Six Degrees of Kings of Leon’s Aha Shake Heartbreak
It used to be easier to pretend that an album was its own perfectly self-contained artifact. The great records certainly feel that way. But albums are more permeable than solid, their motivations, executions and inspirations informed by, and often stolen from, their peers and forbearers. It all sounds awfully formal, but it's not. It's the very nature of music — of art, even. The Six Degrees features examine the relationships between classic records and five other albums we've deemed related in some way. In some cases these connections are obvious, in others they are tenuous. But, most important to you, all of the records are highly, highly recommended.
The Album
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This is the Kings of Leon we love. Tight, silly and full of energy, Aha Shake Heartbreak is a thrilling rock record, an album not about art, artifice or bold intent, but an album about now. It's a concise record like the Strokes, with whom they were so often compared, there are few guitar solos, fewer reprises and no fat. It's a guitar-rock album, pure and simple, and it's one of the finest in recent memory. Caleb Followill is Kings of Leon's singer and frontman, and his peculiar yelp dances along his staccato vocal lines flawlessly. The interplay between his hiccupping vocals and the riffs of his bandmates is one of Aha Shake Heartbreak's most prevalent charms; songs like "Taper Jean Girl" hinge on that flirtation, shades of Mick Jagger and Keith Richards if you squint hard enough. (Bassist Jared Followill also deserves a ton of credit; he favors lines that pulse like alarm clocks, these rapid, exhilarating bursts of low energy check "Taper Jean Girl" once more.) Though Shake Heartbreak has become a hipster dance-party staple (put on "The Bucket" and test it out), its broader cultural relevance has been nil. In the years since, Kings have abandoned almost everything about this approach, instead opting for U2-style grandiosity. It's a shame. This record is that rare breed: an intersection of sound and style (this is, essentially a Strokes album), high and low art (a hipster take on the classic CCR chooglin' sound) and fun, guilt-free sex. This is Utopia's Southern-rock, and we want to go back!
The Contenders
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And this is the Verbena we love. Souls for Sale was this Alabama band's 1997 debut album, and it is a stunner. Scorchers "Hot Blooded," "Shaped Like a Gun" and "Me & Keith" established their Southern-tinged modern-rock credentials, and a song like "Junk for Fashion" whose chorus manages to make sneers harmonize nailed everything Kings would do seven years later. "The Song That Ended Your Career," "Postcard Blues" and "The Desert" show a softer side to Verbena, and closer "Kiss Yourself" is as furious as a rock song can get. An incredible album from start to finish. So what happened to Verbena? Many folks were wowed by this record, including Foo Fighter Dave Grohl, who offered to produce their major label debut called Into the Pink. Scrubbed of all the twang and the Stones flourishes that made Souls so special, Pink was their shot at wider rock stardom via generic modern-rock. It was a bad album, and it took the band down with it.
The Comers
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Spend a significant amount of time with the Texas trio White Denim's debut, and you'll quickly come to the conclusion that the sky's the limit with these kids. White Denim may be in love with boogie instrumentals but when it's on, it's so on. These guys are the next Kings of Leon if they want to be.
The Forgotten
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The Flaming Groovies' Teenage Head is the very definition of a lost classic. Released in 1971 to near-deafening silence, its groove-rock has never found a place among the Stones and Faces of the world. It's a genuine shame, as this record, the band's last with key member Roy Lonely, is top-to-bottom awesome. The revved-up "High Flyin' Baby," the country-blues ballad "City Lights" (a longtime fave) and the timeless "Whiskey Woman," a broken-down torch song with incredible vocals, are all fantastic. And that's not even getting to the title track, one of the finest rock songs ever. It's got a nasty blues-based riff (Jack White has spent his life trying to top it); tons of attitude about "teenage monsters" in a snarl that says which side the Groovies take; and this line, "When you see me/ You better turn your tail and run/ Cause I'm angry/ And I'll mess you up for fun." You need this record.
The Canonical
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Without Creedence's invention of cross-continental, decidedly un-Dixie Southern rock, the stuff of Skynyrd and the Allmans might very well be regionalized below the Mason-Dixon. Instead they took it big, and this excellent album played a big part in it: "Down on the Corner" and "Fortunate Son" two of their biggest hits, originate here. But beyond those two, there's lots more to love, including two of CCR's most haunting tunes: "Don't Look Now" (reminiscent of Elvis' "Mystery Train," and consciously so, including the Scotty Moore-like guitar licks) and "Effigy," a harrowing epic about mayhem built around the line, "Who we burning?/ Who we burning?/ Effigy." Probably not the Creedence that immediately comes to mind, but one that's worth hearing.
The Laconic
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Put a little more sorghum in the Followill bloodline, slow 'em down a bit, and this is what you get: the laconic majesty of My Morning Jacket. At Dawn, the Kentucky band's 2001 release, is an early document, and arguably the band's best. "Bermuda Highway," delicate and cautious, is its emotional center, Jim James' tenor searching, yearning. Beautiful.
